


Olympic Tryouts (part 32)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [32]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 32)

**Author's Note:**

> remember when brittana got married? yeah that was real life. holy shit.
> 
> anyways. here’s some more about these in love hockey players. i can’t say thank you enough to everyone who reads, reviews, likes, sends me messages and shares headcanons with me about this story. i love this fandom and each and every one of you goons.

In the middle of an ordinary Wednesday night in early November, Santana wakes to a freezing cold wind biting against her cheeks. Confused and disoriented, she turns over in bed and reaches for Brittany but finds the space next to her vacant.

"Britt?" she calls, her voice scratchy and raw with sleep.

"It’s coming," Brittany whispers from seemingly close by.

"What are you talking about? What time is it?" Santana groans, turning towards the clock on the bedside table and squinting at the illuminated red digits cutting through the darkness. 3:47 am. "Do you have the window open right now?" Santana asks, incredulous and still very confused. "Are you sleep-walking or something?" She can’t think of another plausible reason as to why Brittany would be both awake nor why she would be leaning her head out of the open window and peering up towards the sky.

Without answering, Brittany crosses the room and starts rummaging through the chest of drawers in her closet, pulling a thick gray fleece over her head and then a fuzzy maroon and gold knit hat topped with a fraying pom pom.

"Britt, what the…"

"I’m going out," Brittany interrupts in her best no-nonsense tone. By the time Santana can reach to twist on the small, dim lamp on her bedside table and bathing the room in soft yellow light, Brittany is already clad in sweatpants and thick wool socks and is stepping into a pair of sturdy winter boots.

Santana wonders for a few quick moments whether she’s dreaming. ”Britt, it’s the middle of the night, what the hell is going on?”

"It’s going to snow." Her voice is bordering on reverent. "Everyone knows the first snow of the year is chock full of magic and good luck, San. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll come out there with me. They way I see it, we need all the good luck we can get."

"No one said anything about snow, get back in bed," whines Santana, missing the warmth of Brittany’s body pressed against her, especially with the frigid air still gusting through the open window. She shudders involuntarily before burrowing deeper into the blankets, pulling the duvet over her head to form a cocoon.

After a light chuckle and a bit more rustling, Santana follows the sound of footprints back across the room, squinting when Brittany pokes her head underneath the covers, her hot breath sharply contrasting against the frigid tip of Santana’s nose. “I can smell it,” Brittany whispers, and Santana can tell she’s grinning even if it’s too dark under the blankets to pick out any of her features.

"Smell what? Britt you’re not making any sense. Please get back in bed, I wants my space heater back."

"I can smell the snow," Brittany counters, as if it were obvious. "Come outside with me, honey? Pretty please with hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles on top?" Santana emits an exaggerated groan while throwing the covers back and grabbing the jacket Brittany is already holding.

“How did you? Nevermind.” Santana shakes her head as she pulls on two more layers of clothing, her warmest boots and softest mittens before taking Brittany’s outstretched hand and following her out into the night.

_____

“Open your eyes, Santana.”

“No. Sleeping.”

“You’re not sleeping because you’re talking,” Brittany teases, her arm linked tightly around Santana’s as she bounces up onto the balls of her feet and back down again, over and over. Brittany has led them out into the middle of the quad and keeps staring up into the sky, even though there’s not a snowflake in sight.

“Sleep-talking. It’s a thing.”

“I’m aware, honey, you do it all the time.”

That gets Santana’s attention and she pulls her head from Brittany’s shoulder to argue, but Brittany just giggles a “you do, cross my heart,” and leans forward to kiss the tip of Santana’s nose.

“The cold weather is turning you into Rudolph, I’ll have to remember to wrap up your cute face up in a scarf the next time we’re out in the snow. Can’t have that schnoz freezing up and falling off, because let me tell you, the Voldemort look is _not_ hot.”

“There will not be a next time, B. Once is plenty, thanks very much. Also, I’m calling the nuthouse tomorrow because I hope you realize that it’s NOT EVEN-”

But she doesn’t finish, because as if Brittany had wiggled her nose Bewitched-style and conjured the storm clouds themselves, large, white flakes begin to cascade from the heavens all around them. Individual flecks stick to their hats and jackets before melting away, and Santana finds herself looking up at Brittany, who has her chin turned to the sky, a wide and giddy smile spread wide across her face.

“See?” she beams, snaking her arm around Santana’s shoulder and squeezing her in tight. “I told you!”

“You did.” Santana chuckles and tucks her head into Brittany’s neck, stepping fully into her warm embrace and kissing the exposed skin where the corner of her jaw meets her neck as Brittany wraps her up.

They stand there for a long time together, long enough for the pompom on the top of Brittany’s knit hat to collect a thin dusting of white, and until they’re both finally shivering noticeably.

“Britt, we should go inside. We’ve got to be up soon,” Santana gently prods, tucking her mittened hands beneath the waistband of Brittany’s sweatpants and palming her lower back, rubbing warmth into her skin.

“I know. Just one more minute. We have to make our wishes first. On three, ready?”

Santana agrees, pulling back enough to see Brittany clearly.

“One, two, three!” Brittany presses her eyes together tightly and scrunches her nose, willing her wish up to through the clouds and to the stars. Santana makes her own silent wish and can’t help the dopey and drunken smile adorning her face as Brittany seals both with a cold-lipped kiss.

_____

Long after practice and dinner later that night, Santana is switching her bed sheets from the washing machine to the dryer in the first floor common laundry room when her phone rings. _Home_. She glances quickly at her watch. It’s late for her parents to be calling, especially with the three hour time difference and she furrows her brow in confusion.

“Hello?” She tries not to sound annoyed.

“Santana?” Her mother’s voice catches after the first syllable, tripping over the other two. She sounds almost strangled.

“Yeah, ma, it’s me. What’s up?”

Something is wrong. Subconsciously, her mind races a hundred miles an hour: something happened to her brother. Her dad. They put down the family dog, he was getting old after all…

“I’m sorry to call you, I know you’re busy with training-”

“It’s okay, ma,” she prods, willing her mother to get on with it.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” she struggles, pulling in short breaths that staccato over the phone line between Boston and Colorado. She’s crying in earnest now and Santana is sweating, the panic clutching her stomach into tightly woven knots and pulling hard.

“Your father wants a divorce. He. He just told me.” Her mother can barely get the words out and Santana feels like her guts have actually spilled out from her body onto the floor. She doesn’t know what to say, so she sits quiet on the other end of the phone, making sure her mother can hear her breathe if she’s listening. To let her know she’s still there.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” her mother says in between heaves of ragged breaths. “I just didn’t know who to call and-”

“It’s okay, ma. It’s okay.” But Santana knows it’s not, and she chides herself for saying so. She knew her parents weren’t exactly getting along, but she never imagined her father would ever actually go through with a divorce.

“I just wanted you to know. Please don’t call your brother, we haven’t told him yet and he’s got a big test tomorrow and I don’t want him to be upset.” The line is muffled as Maribel Lopez blows her nose and tries in vain to pull in a deep breath.

“Okay.” Santana agrees because she doesn’t know what else to do.

“We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

When the line goes dead, Santana doesn’t move for a long time, her body paralyzed as she thinks of her parents not being together anymore and how she can’t imagine her life any other way. _What are they going to do for Christmas? They won’t be together when Santana gets married, how do you handle the family photographs after the ceremony with divorced parents? Will they both be in the hospital when their grandchildren are born? What is her dad doing? Is he packing his things? Is he already in a hotel room? What sent him over the edge? Why does love never seem to last?_

She waits and waits but the call from her father never comes.

______

Brittany finds her twenty minutes later, turning the corner into the laundry room to see Santana staring vacantly into the open clothes dryer, the pile of wet sheets still half hanging out of the machine and her cell phone clutched in one hand. “Santana?” she asks, quiet as a mouse, approaching her slowly. “Are you okay?”

She can’t find her voice to answer.


End file.
